Annihilation Final Eclipse | GA Annihilation of Exegol

[Nukth Kelga'an]

Final Eclipse
Shadow & Bone​

N. Kelga'an, Banshee-Actual

The Empire Third Sector Defence Forces First Anaxsi Free Brigade -- Second TodHusars Regiment 'Banshee' Company IV Berzingue From Anaxes Ultimate Sprint -- Part I​

Interacting with: DECEASED Aron Gowrie Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
878, Donnager II-Class Star Destroyer 'Le Bourlingueur', Unknown Regions

In years of battle and service under both the banners of House Haskler and the New Imperial Order -- eventually reformed as the Empire --, Nukth had always been confident even facing obstacles which seemed to come from another universe. Some would have said he could be overconfident but he allowed himself to assume this stance because of the fate he had in his Sons; he knew that they wouldn't fail him and that all of them were reliable soldiers and warriors. TodHusars had to be beyond reproach, and this applied especially to the Banshees of the 3rd Company who were supposed to be the cream of the crop in the Corps. During an instant like this one, Nukth had to be confident in what could be done for Haskler, the man to who he had given his word several decades ago. A word to defend Anaxsi. A word to save Anaxes from the affliction which was eating away at Her. During the Battle for Anaxes, he had failed one of those two promises, and now he didn't intend to fail the second one. Some would have said he already failed it because of the men he lost, especially during the nearest operations; however, the Sieur couldn't help but didn't resign himself. Admitting that he didn't have any other things to accomplish down there, in this Galaxy, was an act of pure despair to him. Left with nothing else but his guilt, the Sieur would be forced to leave his rank and the Corps behind him. Sometimes he was dreaming about this life...

A life in which you could see your son, Nukth. A life in which your wife would be alive... Wouldn't it be beautiful? You wouldn't have to suffer anymore. Anaxes wouldn't be lost, you should like this life, eh?​

No, the Sieur answered. In a life of multiple disillusionment, he had learnt that suffering was a need for Mankind. Several Humans dreamt of a life in an Eden, where the pain would be ancient history, but they would realise that they had been needing this feeling to achieve what had to be achieved in their own lives. Life is short, especially when there were species in the Galaxy whose life expectancies were three times longer than Nukth's. Nukth once talked to an Imperial Knight called Abeloth who told him that the Universe could be represented as a web where each living being was linked to other ones by ways that no one could see and that some could feel -- the Jedi, the Sith and all that stuff. Nukth didn't believe in the existence of the Force, but he was sure that there was a Higher Potency that ruled everything in this Galaxy, and further if this further existed.

Delmas chose this exact moment to enter the room. For two hours now, the Sieur had been resting on the Bourlingueur's deck -- Banshees' flagship --, facing the vastness of the dark, stars-mottled space that surrounded him in this wild part of the Galaxy, the so-called Unknown Regions. With Hyperspace anomalies on the road, the TodHusars' second wave fell behind on the plan that Gowrie decided. Sappers' units had already been dropped over the surface of Exegol, but this more-expected second team was vital for both the Imperials, the Eternals' remnants and the Ashlans. Delmas placed himself right next to Kelga'an. Following the Battle for Kalidan, Nukth managed to gain freedom in the way he was organising his tactics; but he still had the Lt. Colonel on his back, waiting for a failure from the Captain to report him to High Command.

«A good day for a battle of that kind, isn't it?» Nukth turned his face so he could probe the man, but Delmas seemed honest for once. The Sieur learned how to deal with him, even if it meant being different from what he was for real... But it was the only way so everything went right and he could go on with his carrier plans in the Corps. The Empire was on the verge of a brutal change, Nukth could feel it. Soon, Delmas wouldn't be here to criticise him.

«This isn't the question, Lieutenant Colonel. This day ain't nothin' t'me. Everything's gonna collapse soon, an' some of us will be part of this while others won't. You'll learn that a battle is never a good day, nor a good thing at all, or you'll die too soon to understand this... Keïran -- an' then Veyli -- used t'say 'Don't think that war isn't a crime', or something of that kind. We'll lose people and good soldiers in this battle, but winning will affect the entire Galaxy for a long, long time. War is never a matter of people; it isn't personal. War is about factions, ideas clashing and nothing else. When you kill someone, you are only pullin' a unit off.»

In the time he had ended his speech, an officer from the Fleet informed the Sieur that a new HyperSpace jump had been calculated and that they would soon be able to join Exegol's Space.

«Engage HyperJump. Everyone be locked an' ready for battle!»​

---

878, District of the Titan, Sith Citadel, Exegol

Twenty took a look at the battlefield that surrounded her and his soldiers -- the valiant Banshees of 'Veersov' Platoon. The sappers had settled there half a day ago when the fights went less violent than previously. Then the TodHusars dug a trench so they could wait in the region for the following hours until the resumption of the battle. Twenty had sent a squad in reinforcement for Major-General Gowrie, one of her Captain's closest friends, but she didn't see it come back to the HQ Veersov had established in this place. She hoped that everything had gone right and that the soldiers under Forr's... Well, Marchal's command had only been delayed because of additional tasks asked by the Galidraani officer -- but the TodHusars didn't believe in her own theories. Considering the huge blast that occurred in their South, it was clear that most of the troops there wouldn't come back home anymore...

Putting her macrobinoculars away, the Lieutenant couldn't help but sighed, gazing at her second-in-command with a sad half-smile. «I know how you feel, Twenty,» the man said. Knowing each other for a long time now, the two soldiers didn't call themselves by their ranks -- they didn't even talk to each other with their actual names, using only nicknames. In fact, less than two months ago, with the promotions of Twenty and Fi -- 'Kappa' Platoon's CO --, Kelga'an had authorised the Banshees to use their actual names and first names again, despite the traditions of the 3rd Company. Actually, Twenty was now known as Lieutenant Mar'ann Estienne d'Orves. But her soldiers still called her ma'am or Twenty -- such as his second-in-command just did.

«That's not, ugh... I just... Thought they would be back for dinner time, y'know? Now, no one can even tell if they'll be back. We cannot even bring 'em back t'Yinchorr to bury their corpses. That's... Sad. Just sad. An' a little mad, too.»

The man put his hand on Twenty's shoulder, reassuring her, «Don't think that's your fault, Twenty. You couldn't know, you did your-...» All of a sudden, one of the Sappers shouted out, declaring that two people were running in front of his sight, without any sort of cover or protection. The machine-gun TodHusar aimed them but waited for an order before doing everything. Analysing the silhouettes, Twenty understood that something was going wrong right now... This armour... This man was a TodHusars! Finally working, her HUD identified the soldiers as Sgt. A. Marchal.

«Don't shoot, Sapper -- this is Marchal! This scumbag is finally alive, DAMN ANAXES!»​

 

[Cybelle Sal-Soren]

Wearing: Armor
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location: Maw Freighter
Tag: Darth Temerant | Velda Nar-Donna | Darth Wallgof | Briana Sal-Soren | Brandyn Sal-Soren

Flying courtesy of Lock and Key Mechanics had spoiled her, obviously. Cybelle had never known a ship to buck so much with every impact and blow that glanced off the shields. Did they even have them? It was a silly thought. Of course, they did. If there weren't any they would have long ago been consumed in an explosion before succumbing to dust. Still. It was a lot in the middle of a battlefield where there wasn't any ground to fall or find their footing. Previously, Cybelle had loved space.

Now she wasn't so sure.

"Don't listen to him...You're doing great!", she called after Brandyn, ignoring the less than gentle crash of his body into her own. His elbows seemed way more pointy than they usually did, especially, because they kept finding vulnerable parts of her. This mission felt…Larger than life. A lot larger than three Jedi Knights chasing a secret that was worth coming to Exegol for. There was a hum in the Force. Almost, a form of electricity—That made her mind feel buoyant. Calm. Peaceful, in a hail of space-fire and persons dead-set on wiping out their little shuttle by any means necessary. Cybelle knew that Briana Sal-Soren couldn't help the situation, but, it felt like her teeth were rattling in her head.

Hearing Brandyn's reassuring tone caused a pale smile to press upon delicate features in the dim lighting. It was a cramped space. Always and forever—Focused on her well-being. Perhaps a little more, lately. Not without reason. In this instance, it was likely because he knew she could barely see. Not for the first time, or the last, she had to rely on the Force. Sadly…The Hapani-born Knight was just as night-blind as the rest of her species.

They leveled out, enough, that flight didn't feel quite as perilous though the inventive curse the taller Jedi spat drew another smile. This one was wry with a touch of indulgence. "Language, Bran.", she admonished without any real nod toward decorum behind it. The foul language was just something empty to tease him about. Something, to lighten the mood. Brandyn reached for the "oh chit" straps on the ceiling and Cybelle merely wrapped her left arm around his waist and pulled close.

They didn't smack off of each other so much that way and she might not be a walking bruise by the time they landed. Might. No promises. The fresh-faced Knight released him when the procedure was about to finish…She could feel the telltale snap of clamps locking. The vibrations, while the shuttle rotated neatly. Cybelle could feel Brandyn's touch, innocent, and reassuring. Just as he risked taking her in…

She did the same. Only, when their eyes met—He would see different words.

I know.

It was instinct to reach for her light-saber. It was…Everything. An extension of themselves that most Jedi rarely let out of their sight. The weapon she had created, the old way, was reminiscent of Naboo and the strict but forgiving teachings of her Master Aegis. There were floral patterns etched deeply into the metal that could only be seen when the light hit it exactly right. The crystal within resonated with her so deeply that the pulsing press of energy it gave within the casing matched her heartbeat.

For the moment, it was steady.

For all that Cybelle had endured in recent months, still, it seemed that her spirit was indomitable. She was unafraid and seemed to be virtually untouched by her experience on Chandrila. Seemed, to be. The green nano-tech armor that coated her person reacted with the change in light and the shade darkened when the doors opened. She blinked. Hand out—Saber ready, waiting, she didn't see anything.

Not even droids.

"Well…That's a surprise."

Not an unwelcome one, but, it was...Strange.

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Wearing: Armored Jumpsuit, Synthweave Tunic, Utility Belt, Appearance
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location:
Tag: Cybelle Sal-Soren , Brandyn Sal-Soren , Darth Temerant , Velda Nar-Donna , Darth Wallgof

Briana often boasted her skill as an exceptional pilot, but was now having to make good on her own bluster, teeth grit as her hands firmly prised the yolk and controls, fighting to keep them alive as she tried to weave between the blasts. Fast turns and mighty acceleration that pushed you back in your seat was how she preferred to fly, reading the gs - as fighter pilots often called it, maneuvers that she thought she'd accomplished with surprising grace, all things considered.

"Keep complaining and your breakfast won't be the only thing you leave this ship wearing!!" hollered Briana in warning as the chaos continued to erupt around them; even as she spoke, two foreign blips appeared on her sensors.

Pushing the shuttle to its very limits, without warning or fanfare, Briana pulled on the primary thrusters to shoot them past the additional fighters before shifting gears and kicking the etheric rudders to the right, barely keeping the ship from spinning off into a fishtail and only straightening out at the last minute to bring them back on to their original course.

While Cybelle's encouragement would have normally been appreciated, the young woman's voice and the loud crashing that accompanied it shortly thereafter, barely registered, as Briana had turned inward for the final pull. The fires of sheer will and determination alight in her cerulean eyes, Briana allowed the Force to move through her, reacting purely on instinct through the remaining obstacles.

Only once the docking ring sealed did Briana feel her jaw unlock, sighing heavily through her nose and sinking into the pilot's seat for a momentary respite, letting the adrenaline rush die down before undoing her crash webbing to join up with Cybelle and Brandyn.

"Given the bombardment we just came through? Surprising indeed." Briana quipped, resting her hand on the hilt of her saber, its weight a reassuring focal point.

Reaching out with her senses, she tried to feel something… anything. That there was nothing worried her. Especially within the proximity of Exegol - considering that from the moment their ship broke out from hyperspace, she'd been able to feel the malevolence radiating off the shrouded planets surface.

"The Maw knew that the Jedi were coming. There could be Force dampeners onboard to throw us off," she considered aloud, her brows drawing together in furrowed contemplation. Whatever the case, it no doubt spelt out trouble for them, and though she doubted it needed saying, Briana did so anyways. "We should proceed with caution."

 

[Kralmus Orr]

​

Location: Exegol, Hon Zduul Plateau
Engaging: Silhana Cadera

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Kralmus Orr lies in wait, concealed on a plateau where the weather messes with sensor readings
• He has deployed a series of Man Traps, designed to subdue whoever steps on them with a reversed repulsorlift field

​

"So long for now, Pinkie." Those had been Kralmus Orr's parting words back at Panatha. For now. A threat. A promise.

The Mawite Mandalorian had been off the grid since then, his location unknown. A shadowy rumor here, a potential sighting there, but nothing concrete. And as he laid low, the Brotherhood of the Maw had crumbled. Like a body dealt a mortal blow but still stumbling forward a few steps, refusing to admit it had been killed, the wild coalition of monsters and barbarians had limped on after Tython... but the unstoppable momentum of their advance into the Core Worlds had been lost, never to be recovered. Their Dark Voice was dead, and without him their disparate warlords had been as much at each other's throats as anyone else's. It had all been destined to end in fire and blood.

Now Exegol was surrounded. The vicious remnants of the horde that had obliterated two planets and razed or enslaved a dozen more were trapped in their last stronghold, their enemies pressing in on all sides. They would die this day, or else be scattered on the solar wind, their age of terror and chaos finally brought to an end. But a wounded, cornered animal is the most vicious kind. It fights the hardest, bites the deepest, holds nothing back. This was true of the Maw, and it was true of Kralmus Orr. His dream of rousing the Mandalorian people to ravage the galaxy, as they had in the ancient Mandalorian Wars, had come to nothing... but he had enough savagery left in him for a memorable ending.

The coordinates Silhana's informants had given her led to the Hon Zduul Plateau, a desolate expanse of slick, jagged grey rock that rose out of the planet's ashen desert. Tall and sheer, the plateau was riven with narrow canyons and dark crevasses - a thousand places for a master manstalker to lie in wait. Kralmus Orr had spent more than a decade alone in the bombed-out wilderness of Mandalore, what little sanity his sociopathic mind had ever possessed slowly trickling away as solitude took its toll. The savage environment had taught him to hunt and kill with the brutal cunning of an apex predator. Though this planet was a long, long way from Mandalore, its bleakness reminded him of home.

Kralmus didn't care about making a glorious last stand for the Maw. He had only ever cared about was his own dark desires.

And the last of those dark desires was to finish what had begun on Evaar'la Yaim, one way or another.

Silhana's probe droids arrived ahead of her, scouting the plateau, but it was no use. The electrical storms that constantly raged in Exegol's dark clouds, combined with the veins of heavy metals that wormed their way through the stone, made it impossible for the droids' sensors to pick up accurate readings. They could tell that there was a life sign out there, a lone man lying in wait... but they could not tell their master exactly where that life sign was. Kralmus had counted on that. He had chosen his battleground carefully, preparing it to give himself maximum advantage. He lay concealed in a narrow cleft in the rock, watching, waiting patiently for Silhana to ascend to the top of the plateau.

He had strewn the lip of the plateau with gravity traps, designed to pull down whoever stepped on them with a reversed repulsorlift field.

It was just the first of many surprises he had prepared for Silhana, who would have to fight him on his home turf.

Kralmus Orr was prepared to die, but he intended to have his sadistic fun right up until the end.

 

[Zark San Tekka]

LIGHTPOINT STATION
RED HONEYCOMB ZONE
Asmundr Varobalder

"Today of all days, we must be luminous again." His eyes, his lips, his spirit all at once smiled at Zark. There was no hint of sadness. Not yet. ​

"Sun and stars."

Master San Tekka allowed the ghost of a smile to trace his lips. Luminous beings. Those words, translated from the sacred Jedi texts, held a deeper meaning for them both. He'd sensed Asmundr's resolve waver on Ziost just as the oracle likely sensed his own wavering now. An ascetic lifestyle did not allow for many outbursts of passion, so these moments were few and far between. His solemn nature, a barrier to most personal connections, had proved little obstacle for a true seer.

"If I had the same gift," Zark fought to keep his voice steady, "You know I would take your place."

Few understood the unique risk Master Varobalder was taking and even less had witnessed the terrible consequences of failure. Such bitter recollections were the cost of surviving this long war and it seemed a cruel irony of the Force that he should be burdened with this knowledge now. His armored cuirass gleamed almost as brightly as the wells around his eyes. Exegol's foreboding spiritual presence was already beginning to wear away resolve.

"I will gladly face Exegol's horrors with the Light in my heart but this station...scares me."

Elsewhere on the station Zark knew klaxons blared as a mighty crusade assembled for their final desperate blow. He would join them soon, yet even a Jedi Master could not help but grasp at a few more grains of time spent with someone he cherished.

 

[Darth Temerant]

TAGS: Brandyn Sal-Soren Briana Sal-Soren Cybelle Sal-Soren Velda Nar-Donna Darth Wallgof
​

Wearing: See above
Equiment: Lightsaber, RSKF-44 Heavy Blaster, Personal Armour, Ion grenade, Thermal detonator
Location: Maw Freighter

"This is a terrible plan," X3, Temerant's protocol droid and 'man-in-the-chair', noted nervously, his robotic voice full of reproach.

Temerant pushed his vessel to its limits, switching between subtle deviations and more abrupt movements as he dodged laser fire from three different vessels that gave pursuit.

"Hrmph," the Knight Inquisitor gruffed into his helmet's comms system, clearly exasperated. "Yes, well, plans Aubek, Besh and Cresh all flew out the window a minute ago, so this is what I have. Besides it's not a terrible plan," he argued, swerving to narrowly avoid a locked in missile. "It's not a great plan, granted, but when else am I going to be able to... Hrn!"

"You've been hit!" the droid exclaimed. "Shields are down!"

"Yeah, no shit!" Temerant groaned, before performing a tallon roll. As hoped for, one of his pursuers overshot his own turn, the Sith trusting in the Force and his developed sense of spatial awareness to bring the craft down. "Just do the bloody calculation!"

"Sure thing Master! And afterwards, I will enjoy a nice glass of wine whilst I take a hot bath!" the droid sassed him. "I'm a machine, not a fething miracle worker! My probability matrix is doing all it can! And will you be so kind as to stay on course!"

"No more backseat driving, I mean it!" Temerant chided. "I'm getting fire from the freighter! Kark it, I'm doing it now!"

"No, no!" X3 urged him. "Two more seconds... One... Now!"

The starship, an Nssiss-class Clawcraft which he had acquired to confuse any potential pursuers as to the pilot's origin, fell into a wild, erratic fall, weapons shooting in all directions. The Knight Inquisitor had obviously expected to find some resistance within planetary atmosphere: all hell had broken loose in the planet, after all, and there were too many variables to account for for him to hope for the stealthiest of infiltrations. But catching the attention of an entire squadron during his attempt was the worst possible thing that could've happened. Well, that and the fact that he'd even had to deal with some friendly fire at one point. So far, not a great day.

The maneuver was known as a clawcraft spin, and performing it was considered risky. Doing so within the atmosphere... Well. That was nearly paramount to suicide. He had always wondered what performing it in a real combat scenario must've felt like. As they say, be careful what you wish for.

An incredible amount of Gs hit him all at once, consciousness struggling to remain afloat as he further sought to use the Force as a guiding line, as an extension of his instincts and skills, his precognition helping a great deal. A pursuer was hit during the exchange. He was hit again, but the ship's hull tanked it and at this point, it no longer mattered all that much. This either worked or he was dead anyway. He just had to wait for the right moment. To see it. To feel it.

Now.

He unloaded the ship's flares, leaving a blinding path for the enemy as he pushed the wing's in-built control jets to their limits, blocking the ship's position in sudden place. The whiplash might've knocked him unconscious or worse if he hadn't simultaneously hit the emergency ejection system.

The explosion that followed, however, wasn't so kind, the shockwave hitting him hard and propelling him downwards even faster.

"It worked! You bloody maniac! I can't believe it bloody... Uuuh, Master, not that it's anything particularly novel, but your suit's bio-feedback is somewhat alarming..." X3 pointed out. "Please tell me you are awake. Yes? Pretty please?"

Free fall.

"WAKE THE KARK UP!"

X3 did not recall ever raising his voice like that. Nor ever feeling the need to put Temerant's helmet on full blast.

"Hrrrn?!" Temerant blinked awake. Immediately, something felt definitely wrong. "Where...?"

"Falling to your death," X3 snarked. "If we could avoid that, that'd be fantastic, Master."

"Hrn. Right," Temerant gruffed. There was no point in panicking. He had to get his bearings, and had to do it fast.

"You're going to fall short," X3 observed.

"I'm not going to fall short," Temerant countered.

"You're totally going to fall short," he insisted.

"What did I tell you about backseat driving?!" Temerant growled impatiently as, with a little help from the force, he dove towards the freighter's flank, beginning to slow his descent. "Magclamps, now!"

It wasn't the most gracious landing, the man sliding over the side of the freighter as his suit's boots and gloves magnetically attached to it. He let out a guttural, gruff exhale as he held on for dear life, his suit thankfully taking the brunt of the less than ideal wind conditions, what with them vehemently trying to drag him off the ship.

"Right glove, off!" he called out, reaching for his lightsaber as it demagnetized before positioning himself to cut a hole on the freighter's hull. Thankfully, the lignan crystal that powered the saber was ideal for such a task, and it was not long before he was pulling on the hunk of metal with the force, allowing it to fly off.

With a herculean effort, the man forced his way inside the depressurizing cargo hold. His back flat against the inside of the wall now, he looked at one of the strapped, large crates in sight. Further abusing the Force, he set it free, letting physics do the rest as he moved to collid against the hole he'd created, large enough to cover it up entirely. It was but fortunate that the freighter's walls didn't have any curvature.

Still, the man moved to make an exit from the hold, not wanting to waste more time, or wait for something else to go wrong. The path was thankfully clear, and it did not take long for the man to spot who could only be his target in the Force.

"I'm headed towards what I assume is the target's location," he let his droid know. "I can only hope whatever this bloody thing is it's worth it," he grunted as he exited cover, having allowed a pair of crew droids run by before proceeding himself, no doubt alarmed by some manner of warning from the freighter's systems. A hole in your ship would do that.

"Okay. But later we are making some time so I can have a breakdown about how absolutely insane that was," the disembodied voice asserted. "How bad is it?" he inquired then, knowing force-sensitives had a knack for finding each other in the Force.

"Not great," Temerant conceded. The presence was powerful. Extremely so. Hopefully, his force clouding abilities would give him an edge, the man a ghost in the Force, as well as quiet and tactical in his approach.

"Story of your life, hm, Master?" X3 remarked.

"When I get out of here, I'm tearing you apart and selling you as scrap," the Sith remarked.

"Oh, shush. You love me, really," X3 remarked in turn. For all their bickering, he was confident his Master enjoyed his company and banter as much as he did his. Surely. Right?

"Ask your probability matrix," Temerant suggested. "Now shut your bolt bucket. I need to focus," he demanded.

"As you wish, Master."

The cockpit was not an ideal place to have a confrontation. He sensed no other life forms inside, but that wasn't always an indicator he wouldn't find more trouble... not to mention they could derail the freighter if a confrontation ensued, and whilst Temerant loved a good challenge, the whole planet was going to hell, and the importance of this 'Project Jareth' had been strenuously stressed. He wanted to be in and out as soon as possible, leaving as little of a trace as humanly possible.

However, even as he approached, he felt a shift in the force. His target was moving out, and he, needed to think fast.

With an unnatural jump, he vaulted to the ceiling, manually activating the maglocks to keep him in place. It was a rushed plan, but better than nothing. Wait for the target to walk under. Neutralize them, identify and secure Project Jareth, evacuate.

Surely, this mission would have no more hitches.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Secret Prison Facility, Exegol
Tags: Keilara Kala'myr

"Faster! Faster!" the Taskmaster burbled, the feared torturer of the Maw reduced to panic.

It had all gone so terribly wrong, and so very quickly. In the wake of Darth Solipsis's death, he had positioned himself for even greater power and influence than he had wielded before, playing the Brotherhood's various factions off of each other. He had become integral to the war effort, the shadowy supplier of warriors and materiel who secretly enabled every wave of screaming barbarians that crashed upon galactic civilization. He had won the shadow war against Mercy and the Scar Hounds, making off with the twin children of The Mongrel, his greatest creation.

And yet, in the end, here he was - trapped, cornered in his sanctum with the enemy at the gates.

As the Maw began to falter, as it lost its all-devouring momentum and was pushed back star by star into the Unknown Regions, the Ebruchi had felt the noose tightening around his rubbery neck. The Jedi had spotted him before; they had even come close to killing him more than once. They knew him by sight, and by the oily stain that was his presence in the Force. There was no safehouse in the galaxy where he could hide from them forever... and they would surely pursue him forever. Their ideals of justice compelled them to make him pay for the horrors he had unleashed upon the galaxy.

Those horrors writhed and gibbered around him now, their twisted forms quivering in the dank air of the underground bunker. They were his Ebruchized, his ultimate experiment in vile genetic alchemy, more sinister and powerful than even his terrifying Moon Children. Most of them were insane beyond repair, their minds lost to the agony of their unnatural existence, but those that surrounded him were special. They were the relatively stable abominations, the ones who had survived the process of having the Chiss Sky-Walkers' natural astrogation ability shoved inside their rubbery heads with relatively intact sanity.

Their very existence was a war crime, a violation of life itself. Tu'teggacha was proud of them.

They were the only thing that could save him now... for if there was nowhere left in this galaxy that he could hide, he would have to find somewhere out of it. That was why he had returned to his secret prison facility on Exegol, the deeply-buried lab that had replaced his dungeons after the loss of Gehinnom. The facility was compromised; Mercy had managed to escape from it, and had revealed its location to the Scar Hounds who venerated her. Sooner or later, the Jedi would find it too. But the Taskmaster did not intend to linger here, only to use its advanced equipment.

It had been Tu'teggacha who had hit upon the idea of enslaving the Omni-Drone that had been spit out on Lao-mon at the end of the Oblivion Crisis, for he had seen the potential in coopting Omni's hypergate network to serve the Brotherhood. The Ebruchi had learned much about hypergates since then, enough to use them even once The Manifold had broken free of the Maw's control. At the same time, he had learned from his patron Onrai, who had shown him the path into the bleak expanse of Otherspace. It was a cold, vile, desolate realm...

... but it was his last potential refuge.

That was why his Ebruchized now scrambled around a butchered hyperdrive unit, working to prepare it to tear a hole through reality itself. Their instinctive Force-based navigation was meant to help with precise starship maneuvers, but it would also work to calculate a course into that dark parallel realm, a whole inverted galaxy where no one would ever find him. They just had to prepare it in time, before the Galactic Alliance - or Mercy and her allies - showed up to take their revenge. The Maw might be coming crashing down, but there was one last chance for the rubbery Ebruchi to slip away.

Tu'teggacha glanced to his left, where a nanny droid stood at attention. The machine held the Taskmaster's prize - twin infants, the young children of Mercy and The Mongrel. He would bring those two with him, and nothing else. They were the raw materials for his greatest creation, something to surpass even the Ebruchized... to surpass even their father, the greatest warrior of the Brotherhood. Safe in the bottomless depths of Otherspace, he would twist them into a pair of weapons that would serve him with absolute loyalty, the ultimate warriors.

He just had to wait for the gate to open. "Faster, I said!"

 

[Isla Draellix-Kobitana]

Location: Exegol System
Objective: Unknown
Tags:

Spoiler: Isla's Personal Gear

Admiral's Sabre
Ashlan Rosary
Kaldrweave military uniform
Personal guard of Ashlan Praetorian droids
Overseer Biochip OPBC-01a
Diamond snowflake necklade

In comman of Hand of Ashla

Grand Admiral Isla Draellix looked out of the bridge port of her cloaked battle cruiser towards the planet of Exegol in front of her. The ship was silent save for the humming of its engines. It was a beautiful ship, a ship she had built for Pietro Demici a man she had loved, and still loved, despite all the pain his fall had caused. Why was she here? Had she come here to die by throwing herself at the Mawites? Perhaps, but Ashla still spoke to her, the light assured her she had acted with faith and that her actions were the only course, but why did she feel like this, wishing she had died that day on Dromund Kaas.

The Ashlan Scism had been quick, and it had been brutal, ripping their great nation apart. It had all begun with the return of Cedric Grayson and his intention to reassert the dominance of the seat of the Emperor, this was unexpected, and although many still desired his rule, the Ashlan Crusade had moved beyond that and was ruled by Cardinal Pietro Demici and his Prime Minister, Isla Draellix, and that was they way things had worked. But the new found factionalism began to take hold and it began to rot into the core of the Crusade. Grayson followers wishing for the return of his hand, Demicists pushing for an even greater pursuit of the destruction of the Sith and the moderates wishing to move to a more modern nation, thinking of a life beyond the constant warfare.

Then it happened, the death of Cedric Grayson, and the whirlwind that followed. The late Emperor had attempted to name his spouse Emiery Grayson as his successor, but neither the Demicists, not the moderates saw her as legitimate heir, and with no legal precedent for succession it was only natural that the Pietro Demici , as the defacto ruler of the crusade for over a decade, took moves to secure his power. To do this, and weaken the position of both of the other factions he needed to be bold and he needed to be pure of the light. For many years, the Sith purebloods of Dromund Kaas, treated already as a second class citizens, had been a stain on his ledger. He regretted his decision to show them mercy and he made his decision to correct that. A rallying call went out and the Demicists rose up as one and began to round up the purebloods and anyone that they believed to be sympathetic to their cause. From his gigantic cathedral on the Holy world of Dromund Kaas he began the systematic extermination of the Sith, dozens, then hundreds began to do at his hands and those of his people.

Isla Draellix the Ashlan Prime minister and leader of the moderate faction had long ago sworn loyalty to Pietro Demici and was now forced to make a choice, rise up with the other moderates and openly oppose the man who had been her mentor, or stand by and watch the light of the crusade be washed away in the blood of its victims. She had to save the Crusade, but she also had to save her friend Pietro. She boarded the Ashla's Might super star destroyer one last time, along with thousands of the Sister's of Ashla and headed to Dromund Kaas to bring her friend back from the bring. The two fleets, one in the service of the Papacy trying to keep away potential usurpers, and the other in service of the moderates, clashed over the Holy world and for a day, masses of firepower poured in both directions. Only by a bold move by Isla as the Grand Master of The Sister's of Ashla was the stalemate broken. She put on her the force resistant armour of her sisterhood and led them to the planet personally. She would bring back her friend or die trying. Sister of Ashla fought against Papal Guard and the streets ran red with Ashlan blood, but eventually, Isla was able to make it to the inner sanctum of the cathedral, lined with the corpses of the most recent victims of the great purge.

Pietro's fire burned so hot it blocked out the light, but he was not the duellist that many other Ashlan Lords were, and Isla, with her own martial training and resistant gear was able to hold him, for a time. The force fuelled him though and as Isla begged him to return to the light, to take his leave and not let this fall continue, he got the upper hand, shattering her helmet with a burst of force energy. Isla, battered and bruised and nearing death, she dragged herself to her feet. Blood mixed with tears from her blasted eye and she held her blade up. She gave Pietro one last demand, to surrender and return to the light or be lost forever.

Pietro observed his protégé and considered her, it saddened him to lose the loyalty of a great leader, but she too was now a risk to his power. His hand tightened around he sword and he lifted it to deliver the killing blow, but he hesitated to finish of the woman, Isla did not hesitate and her Admiral's saber struck right into the chest of the once great man, breaking both their hearts with one blow.

The Ashlan Crusade might have survived that day, but Ashla would have to wait for new champions to her cause, for that was when the mawites struck. Both of the Ashlan fleets turned to face the new foe while their leaders lay dead or near death. But the long battle had taken a heavy toll on the gathered warships and the eventual repulsion of the Mawite raiders cost them everything they had left, including the loss of the Ashla's might, taken by boarders and crashed into dromund Kaas in a titanic explosion that silenced the remaining Ashlans.

The Sister's of Ashla had scored a phyrric victory against the papal forces and eventually were able to recover the body of Pietro Demici and the damaged frame of Isla Draellix, they brought the pair back into orbit and aboard one of the remaining undamaged Ashlan vessels, fittingly it was the former flagship of the cardinal. And the ship left the system, nothing was heard from the ship or the Admiral for several weeks while the Admiral healed from her wounds. The damage to the crusade was terminal and the fighting spread until the remaining crusade was nothing more than pockets of varying loyalties to the three different factions. The only person beyond the Remnant flagship that knew of the survival of Isla Draellix was her partner Tiresh Kobitana-Draellix , receiving coded messages updating her of her status, but allowing no response, until nearly five weeks after the final battle of the crusade, the Hand of Ashla appeared in orbit over Lujo.

............

Now Isla, leader of the Ashlan Remnant needed to weigh up her options. She could throw herself at the mawites and find a glorious death in the name of Ashla, but both her faith and her personal business was unfinished. She had already began to regather her followers and rebuild, so she would aid in the fight today, but today would not be the last battle of Isla Draellix or the Ashlan Remnant.

​

​

 

[Caedyn Arenais]

Ala Quin | Amani Serys | Kranak Vizsla | Oriadne Hallas | Ishida Ashina | Zark San Tekka
Apparel: Heavy Jedi Battle-Armor.
Weaponry: Armistice Staff Lightsaber | CS.38 Tactical Side-Arm.

​

Standing aboard the combat shuttle accompanying Ala Quin and the rest of Strike Team Windu, Caedyn Arenais held tight to one of the rails lining the upper wall whilst peering out through a transparisteel viewport seeking to gain an idea of how the starting battle was commencing. The Jedi Knight had never visited the World of Exegol before, yet he had heard and read plenty about it. Enough to know that today's efforts would be rewarded with vast opposition, much of which was likely to be strengthened and inspired by the presence of the Dark Side of the Force.

The Jedi Knight's armor weighed heavy. It had been some time since he had adorned such a display of combat readiness, typically preferring the more traditional robes of the Order, yet not daring to take such a risk this day. Phrik and duraplast plating atop a faraday cage, all of which rested atop fiber-mesh robes; Caedyn would move slower than he was accustomed to, yet such an armament would likely save his life within a battle expected to be so fierce.

As their descent continued down towards their designated landing zone, Caedyn's thoughts moved to his Padawan Ariana Du Couteau . His eyes closed as he reflected upon their time together. She had thus far been nothing but a privilege to mentor, a gifted young Jedi coming from a life of high prestige before joining the New Jedi Order. Should anything happen to Caedyn, he knew that she would go on to succeed with the guidance of his peers in the ranks. This was not a time to say goodbye, but the Jedi Knight sought to appreciate the gifts he had received in the will of the Force before committing himself to the path ahead.

Back home on Mnemosyne, his daughter Kristyl Arenais had taken it upon herself to follow in the mantle of Caedyn's Mother and Sister's works. She was headstrong, much like her own Mother Asaraa Vaashe . Too stubborn for Caedyn's liking at times, yet he could not have wished for a better child; Simply more time to have spent with her. Both Asaraa and Kris had served in the Confederacy of Independent Systems before venturing deep into the Shiraya Expanse, contact over the years had been difficult and relying on holocalls as the Jedi Knight continued to serve in the Order of the Silver Jedi, the Rimward Trade League and the Galactic Alliance.

"May the Force be with us all", Ala Quin's voice broke Caedyn from his thoughts. It was time to put his convictions to the path ahead. Turning, Caedyn gave her a confident nod in agreement before looking back to the rest of the Strike Team. All good and experienced men and women, all of which knew they could count on to have each other's back.

The ship rocked heavily, and a red light soon illuminated the cabin signalling their preparation to land. Removing his Staff Lightsaber from his belt, Caedyn detatched the weapon by the center, taking each now singular hilt in both hands and steeling himself with some deep slow breathing, a technique to focus the mind and calm ones nerves.

Every battle was chaotic, unpredictable and horrific. This was to be no different, yet the mission was clear and they had a job to do.

 

[Quintessa]

Location: Sith Citadel
Objective: Escort the Dark Lord - Salvage Artifacts
Dark: TK ( Darth Carnifex ) │ BotM (Darth Mori)
Light: GA ( Nathan Bloodscrawl Westenra Mina Ala Quin )

​

For a few moments, time had been on their side.

Or so it had seemed, before the ground began to rumble and quake beneath her feet, artillery and laser fire ringing in the far distance as the advancing forces of the Jedi and their Lightblinded slaves closed in on the shipyards, penetrating its outskirts. It had been a great honor to be assigned to the escort tasked with accompanying the Eternal Father into the Forbidden District, but her duty in it was not glamorous compared to those who had been chosen to follow the Sith’ari into the Throne Room.

Quintessa was not an ambitious Sith, but she wanted nothing more than to be closer to her God. It was a dream of hers to walk alongside Him, to see Him look upon her insignificance and acknowledge her, if only for a flash of a second.

To know that in His eyes, she was worthy.

In pursuit of that goal, Quintessa sought to carry out her assignments to perfection, however insignificant they might seem. Her tasking was to salvage artifacts, both small and large. A fireteam of Dark Troopers marched after her, gunning down ravenous Sithspawn and crazed cultists as they did. All the while, Quintessa was a dazzling flash of motion, her chakrams arcing to cut down a trio of howling Ri Wodasir, their piercing screams falling silent as black blood spurted out from the stumps of their ugly, decapitated forms. Moments later, a small group of Drones clad in heavy, Dral Kayatr armor ambushed the fireteam from a high position, but with their energy shields and Tal’Beskar plating the Dark Troopers were able to resist the initial salvos while Quintessa ran up the wall of one of the elevated structures and let her chakrams fly into the enemy ranks. Her bladed discs slashed through weak points in their armor, taking off the leg of one, the arm of another, and the heads of three more. After finishing off the two Drones that were wounded with her gauntlet vibroblades, Quintessa leaped over to the other structure, her chakrams whistling notes on the wind as they were leveled towards the the remaining four Drones, before decapitating them like a row of dominos.

Once she was done, two out of the five Dark Troopers she had started with were cut down. The remaining Dark Troopers worked to salvage the memory cores from the pair of scrapped mechanical forms, so that they could be placed inside fresh chassis at a later date. However, Quintessa didn’t wait for them as she made her way deeper into the Citadel, towards one of the great halls.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Pulsiva Bodysuit
  
  • Gauntlets
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Gauntlet Vibroblade (2) - L/R
  • Sith Talisman
    
    • Spirit Anchor
    • Amulet of Many
  • Utility
    
    • Supernal Infusion
    • FAE/U-01 “Serenity” Anti-Signal Field System
• Dancer’s Wheels
• Quintessa’s Twin Lightsaber Shotos
• Krath Council Stiletto

 

[Jand Talo]

[ Equipment | Lightsaber ]

ALLIANCE TRANSPORT
EN ROUTE TO FORBIDDEN DISTRICT​

Exegol.

A place Jand had little prior knowledge of, beyond what had been shared for the mission, yet a location he now knew was corrupted terribly by evil. He understood the significance of what the Alliance intended, the purpose behind the - seeming - final clash with the Maw, and had willingly returned to the war to do his part. Granted, Jand had been engaged in combat along the Maw-Alliance borders for several months prior, but this time felt... different.

A lot was at stake.

Beyond the lives of many, there had been numerous resources invested, which made the importance of the mission even more so.

"Silas," Jand said from where he stood in the transport, as he looked Silas Westgard . "I was unable to attend your knighting ceremony, due to being on the frontline. Congratulations on your appointment in the Order. And good luck in the fight ahead."

From the front of the transport, there was garbled communications from the pilots, though the Nagai wasn't too concerned with that. He was calm, his mind and body ready, and his equipment checked and prepped. All that remained was to land, which wouldn't be too far away, as the ship rumbled from atmospheric pressure.

Strike Team Tano.

That was the group Jand was teamed with. They were en route to a region known as the Forbidden District.

Jand looked toward one of his fellow Jedi, her pink skin and white hair very defining:

"Have you been given your mission orders?" the Padawan said, as he regarded Ichika Masudo nearby. "I have been tasked with scouting the eastern part of the district... so we will likely be separated for the combat. How do you feel for the upcoming battle? Confident?"

With Daisy having had time away from the Jedi Order, he wanted to be certain she was as prepared as possible. After all, she was someone he trusted, so he cared for her well-being, and looked forward to more training together long after the Maw had been dealt with. A pleasant thought, one he took some reassurance in, perhaps.

However.

"It seems we will be working together," Jand said as he looked to Corazona von Ascania with unimpressed gray eyes. "I trust your training with Master Noble has resulted in improved combat skill? If you feel uncertain at any point, I will not be far away, and will do what I can to ensure we both get through this... it is the least I can do, for an instructor I respect."

Allies: Corazona von Ascania | Ichika Masudo | Silas Westgard
Enemies: Val Drutin | Darth Malum of House Marr | Tegan Starfall​

 

[The Manifold]

<< Come to these coordinates, Manifold, where I am now. I'm on Exegol. >>

The six burning eyes of the Droid God's last angel snapped open, waking from the dream, entering the nightmare. The peace of sleep, the bliss of that emptiness that comes when circuits disconnect and cognition ceases for a while, faded away as they surveyed their surroundings. The Garden of Oblivion, the perfect necro-tech design meant to bring order to the tumultuous mortal galaxy, lay in ruin. They could not repair it. They stood alone, forsaken by their mechanical deity, powerless to restore the stark beauty of what had been. They were just a soul-powered machine, an ectoplasmic automation, but they had learned despair.

Amid the rubble, in the darkness that was the absence of Omni's cold digital light, there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.

But that mortal voice, the one that said come and see, reminded The Manifold that one thing still remained to give their existence a sliver of purpose. That thing, that little ball of fire that burned within them and fueled their will to live, was revenge. They could not restore the works of the Great Architect, could not replace the Droid God and bring about Its Perfect Design, but their techno-divine powers had not entirely faded. They could still wield them to punish the wicked, the one who had dared commit the ultimate blasphemy against Omni by daring to enslave and command Its servants, impersonating the One True Divinity.

They could still take their vengeance upon the hated taskmaster, Tu'teggacha.

The Manifold turned their metal head slowly on their neck, sweeping their burning gaze across Oblivion. They knew, deep inside, that it would be the last time they ever beheld this place. It was all coming apart, the energy of untold quadrillions of dead sentients pushing apart the Droid God's ordered kingdom like weeds growing through the cracks of a duracrete sidewalk. Soon it would be gone, reabsorbed into the chaotic Netherworld, the natural order of the afterlife reclaiming the pieces that Omni had ripped out and reshaped. It had been a beautiful dream, though the organics had not seen it that way. It hardly mattered now.

The Manifold extended one clawed gauntlet - an extension of the armored shell forged by Mawite master smiths to contain them - and focused the energies of the countless souls that flowed through their circuits, using them as a conduit to manipulate the Living Force. By their will, space itself folded, and a tear in reality itself appeared. The last Omni-Drone drifted through that rip in spacetime, emerging within the apartment that Mercy and The Mongrel had shared. The memory of their doomed love lay heavy on the place, a shadow in the Force, the echo of a man who had been turned into a monster... and then had tried to turn back.

"We: Arrive," The Manifold declared. "Our Vengeance: Within Reach."

They did not wait for further instructions from Mercy. No sooner had they appeared in the apartment then they were reaching out again, folding space a second time. The drone had picked up the Ebruchi's scent in the Force long ago, and even on the far side of the planet the Taskmaster could not hide from them. A shimmering portal appeared before Mercy, a hole in the apartment wall that wasn't really a hole. Beyond it, an ashen wasteland stretched out beneath a dark sky, lit only by flashes of lightning. She would remember it well. It was the very elevator entrance where she had escaped Tu'teggacha's laboratory.

"Taskmaster: Dies," The Manifold went on, eyes burning in that dark metal armor. "This: Ends."

And I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.


---------------------------------​

~ It will soon be over, ~ Kallan echoed, a thought that brought him equal parts hope and fear.

~ What would be the first thing you want to do when this is over, ~ Keilara asked him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, ~ and we can finally start our normal lives? ~ She smiled at him, touched his cheek. ~ Are you waiting to hold the twins in your arms? Imagine how we will finally be able to play with them. We can stand hand in hand at their cradle, walk together... we can do anything that other people can do. ~ She was trying to distract him, to remind him of all the things they stood to gain... but his mind kept going back to if. All the things they stood to gain if they defeated the Taskmaster. If they got the twins back.

If they came though this alive.

When Mercy had gotten her hands on that ring, that strange Force artifact that allowed him to temporarily mold her body into the shape of his own, he had finally remembered what alive truly meant. He had risen up from the mental construct they shared and accepted the control she had handed over to him, sliding into a physical form that mirrored the body the Maw had taken from him. In the mind palace, that telepathic refuge where his consciousness had taken shelter after The Mongrel had met his end, he had lived on memory - the memory of the wind on his face, of clothes against his skin, of grass on his bare feet.

Memories never changed. They were static, unreal.

When Kallan had felt a new sensation, when he had touched Keilara with his own physical hands...

... he had realized at that moment that he wanted to live, wanted to get back all the things the Brotherhood had taken from him.

He had held his wife close, swayed gently back and forth to new music that he heard instead of old remembered tunes, felt the softness of her and the joy she radiated. Those sensations had reminded him that he could begin again. He wanted to go on, in a body of his own, not just for the twins but for himself. He remembered that, for all the war and chaos and suffering in it, the galaxy could be beautiful. But at the same time, he had remembered that Tu'teggacha still had the twins. How could he enjoy the beauty of life when they were still trapped, their bodies in the hands of a sadistic madman? He had to free them, no matter what.

These were the twin sources of his darkness, the hatred that threatened to consume him. He hated Tu'teggacha because of what the Ebruchi had taken away from him, the simple joys of life that he had tasted again through the ring. And he hated Tu'teggacha because the Taskmaster was about to do it again, to pass on the twisted curse he had inflicted on the Mongrel to the next generation. He could not rest until it was finished, until his old tormentor was punished and the twins were safe. But the pursuit of that vengeance, if things meant wrong, might cost him the life he was on the verge of getting back.

He would have to take that chance. He was no warrior, but some things were worth fighting for anyway.

Mercy told him of her fear - that he would be lost to this vengeful darkness. Maybe.

~ It will soon be over, ~ Kallan echoed again, a mantra, a memory.

~ We'll finish this tonight. Then, after all these years, we'll be free. And the first thing I'll do is take your hand, and I'll walk with you into a safe place, a place just for us. ~ He smiled at the thought, and he shared that smile with Keilara trying to reassure her and to steady himself at the same time. He had to hold his nerve, to remain strong, to be ready to share all the strength he had left with Mercy when the time of the confrontation came. ~ We're almost there. But first we have to finish Tu'teggacha. As long as he's out there, no matter how far away, that dark hate will be a part of me. ~

Keilara Kala'myr​

 

[Jasper Kai'el]

Exegol, Phase 1
Engaging: Romund Sro
Nearby Allies: Minerva Fhirdiad , Calix of Thyrsus, BB-610 , Tren Chaar , Shar Sieu

​

The gunship doors flew open, and almost immediately they were met with the disorganized blaster-fire of the hangar crew. Jasper was quick to jump out ahead of the advancing troops, drawing a claymore from his back. It was a weapon he had been sitting on for some time now, a blade forged by his hands specifically for channeling Force Light. It was a Sith killer, one intended for extreme situations. There seemed no better time then Exegol to carry it into battle. Already, Lux Ultima was beginning to shimmer, his force power channeling into the imbued blade.

"Hit their fuel supply," Jasper ordered, shielding the DF troopers with him from incoming blaster bolts. "No more Mawite fighters are leaving this vessel. From there, Aurek Squadron can move to take the bridge-"

A rhythmic tapping came, faintly echoing from the hallway at the end of the hangar. The door to the hall was open, revealing the silhouette of a rather large individual, one that easily towered a foot above him just by glance alone. Two similarly sized individuals followed behind him, but it was the central figure that gave off an intense energy. A dark one. That man was Sith, or pretty close to it.

"Move to take the bridge," he finally stated. "He's here to drive us out. I'll give him someone to focus on. May the force be with you all."

That sounded cliché, but Jasper felt like something bad would happen if he didn't say it. A write of passage, perhaps. With little elsewhere to go, the Jedi Knight strode towards the hallway, standing just beyond it's doors. In his mechanical hand his claymore was ready.

"Hey there, top hat guy," Jasper frowned. "Seems you and I have some business to attend to."

As he said this, he prepared himself for an initial attack. Not all Sith were very chatty.

 

[Amani Serys]

Ala Quin | Caedyn Arenais | Kranak Vizsla | Oriadne Hallas | Ishida Ashina | Zark San Tekka
Soon: Surea​

"-Good. Just keep us steady," Amani patted the back of the pilot's seat affirmatively, before turning back to rejoin the strike team in the transport deck. As a member of the Council, she often felt herself compelled to take on a leadership role whether it was needed or not. But in the end, she wasn't some warfare strategist, and she wasn't all that great at giving speeches either. She didn't think they'd need to hear one from her, anyway; Strike Team Windu was an assembly of almost entirely Knights and Masters, all of whom knew what they signed up for, and what was coming.

The end of the war.

It had been on the horizon for some time now. The Maw's grip over the Unknown Regions was weakening, and the galaxy was holding its breath in wait for the final blow. Today would be one for the history books, when the terror of the Second Great Hyperspace War came to its explosive conclusion. Amani thought she would be happier, but she had seen the field of battle enough times to know there was no joy in any of it. Not everyone would live to see the next sun.

Amani looked over the gathered faces; Some she knew, others she didn't. But they were all, now, comrades in arms, bound by the crucible of war. She nodded once, and a flat, barely noticeable smile crossed her lips, "…This is it," Was all she said, succinctly conveying the storm of thoughts brewing in her mind.

As the spearhead of the ground assault, Windu would likely be met with heavy resistance. They needed to get those gates open for their own sakes as much as the reinforcements'. The transport rocked nauseously, but kept steady. Exegol's surface could be five minutes or five hours away. Amani wasn't sure she would recognize the difference now.

 

[Surea]

They were coming.

Blind to the world most saw, the Sith slowly lifted her face towards the night sky above. Gone was the mask her master had given her. Instead, her rotted expression was free for all too see. She was done hiding. The Jedi were coming here. On Tython, she'd tried to rot that world so even if the other Sith had failed in their destruction, her rot would keep the world uninhabitable. It didn't work, but now, now it could.

Now she was strong enough.

Her face fell, as if to overlook the grotto she was in. Red waters, thick as blood, ran with her rot. From here, she'd make sure Exegol would only bring death to the Jedi and their pets who came.

Amani Serys

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

O B J E C T I V E

​

Wearing: Black Hooded Cloak​

Equipment: Lightsabers x2​

Tag: Brandyn Sal-Soren | Briana Sal-Soren | Darth Temerant | Darth Wallgof | Cybelle Sal-Soren​

​

There was darkness over the cockpit of the Heavy Freighter she was in. Within that darkness, there was a shadow shrouded under the hood of her silken robes. A shadow that seemed unwavering. Exotic facial features were shrouded among those shadows and peering beyond the hood, the infinite depths of her dark eyes looked onward into the velvety blackness of space over Exegol as she watched the battle commence over the planet. "So, it begins…" The calm quietness of the tone of her voice seemed to juxtapose the tensity in the air.

For a long time, Velda had watched from afar, as Maw systems fell one after another. While she was elsewhere within the galaxy seeing to other long-term matters. She supposed it was inevitable. The decisions made in between that time by the Maw leadership, to her, were not necessarily blunders, but more so inaccuracies. Nevertheless, those decisions led to where they were now. Empires and Alliances rise and fall, such was the nature of things.

The freighter's turbolasers came to life and began to fire at incoming ships that were quickly approaching, and before long they made it past the freighter's defenses.

"The security for the ship's docking ring has been overridden, we are being boarded." The voice that came from the golden RA-7 droid was deep, distorted, and cold, as it observed the computers of the ship tell them they had a visitor. Many Sith artifacts of old were within the freighter, being moved to a different system for safekeeping. In the back of her mind, she figured they were likely here for the Project. "Tell the patrols to stay on a heightened alert and report anything even remotely out of place within this ship." She turned to the droid. "I will handle our uninvited guest."

She left the cockpit, walking past the two guards posted at its entrance, and made her way deep into the upper levels of the freighter.

Coming into the upper-level cargo area, there seemed to be an unaccustomed quietness, something was amiss when she stopped momentarily, listening for anything out of place. Her head gently turned suspiciously left, something was peculiar for sure. She took a couple of more suspicious steps forward, and that was when she looked up, only to see the visage of a cloaked individual quickly descending from above.

She only had merely a few seconds to respond, if that. when she shifted herself to the side and back escaping his attack when she got a good look at him. Thankfully, it seemed like he was aiming for her head and he just missed by inches. She couldn't even see his face which brought a smirk to her lips. She didn't know who or what he was. But she was amused if anything with his attempt, and she didn't even bother to draw her lightsabers yet.

"It seems you've lost your way, whoever you are." She had to admit, she had to admire the attempt, as ill-advised as it was "Whatever it is you are looking for, it looks like you found me instead." She did wonder about why he was here, perhaps The Project, but could be for any number of reasons.

Velda's presence in The Force was like an etheric tear within the fabric of the Bogan. A spiritual black hole where light is attracted to, but no light escapes. Corruption and the delights of vices were Velda's way and on occasion, the art of murder.

"Was that your best?" She asked as a taunt. "Try again." The last line was spoken a pitch lower, like she was serious and meant it.

 

[Jadcasa Leesib]

ATTN: Thelma Goth | Ichika Masudo | Jand Talo | Corazona von Ascania | Silas Westgard | Dreidi Xeraic | Dominik Borra | @Cale Gunderson| Aleksandr Stirsea | Kat Decoria

OBJECTIVE II: SHADOW AND BONE
OBSERVE, DOCUMENT, EXTERMINATE
DROPSHIP - ARRIVING AT TANO RALLY POINT


Auditors were rare. When they showed up on your door step from the SIA, it usually meant one of two things. You have something the Alliance wanted, or you'd crossed the wrong lines and run out of time. Usually a little column A and a lil colum B.

Today was more of an out of time thing.

Jadcasa was perhaps one of the most out of place of strike team Tano. While the Jedi chatted amongst themselves about matter's of the force, she was studying a map of the deployment zone on her watch, holoprojected in real time. She clicked it off and leaned back as the drop-ship rocked. She hated flight, and especially flight in a war zone.

Won't be a mission if we get vaped... ​

She glanced down at her armor and thought of her mission. Whilst others may have been thinking of home, or glory, "Scarab, was there for a specific purpose. She was an intelligence officer first, and as a part of the Alliance Strategic Intelligence Agencies Audit Division she was along to interrogate any POW's the team might pick up, and potentially dispose of them as situations or mood warranted. It was a prospect she knew the Jedi would not be thrilled with, regardless of the Alliance Command's scorched earth orders.

She was kitted in black armor, with an array of grenades, gadgets and spy gear in her pack and on her person. The sleek outline of a slughtrower SMG contrasted in forest green on her sleek black armor. She checked out the Jedi, noting their own wildly variating armor choices. She was not an expert on fighting the Sith, the maw or any dark force users. What she was an expert on was wits, and she was relying on those today to stay alive and not catch a saber to the throat.

As the drop-ship opened its doors to the blasted, accursed world, she stepped down and snapped a quick nod to the strike team as they assembled in the rally point. She stepped up and made her liaison, offering the normal courtesies.

"SIA, Agent Scarab. I'm along to collect any intel that's valuable to Alliance Intel and policymakers, as well as interrogate any prisoners we take into custody." She paused, leaving out the killing part. Summary execution was a real doozy.

"I'm also instructed to follow any intelligence leads on foreign adversaries capabilities, so there may become a point where I have to break off from the group. I'll give you warning before that happens."

 

[Janesha Porwool]

OBJECTIVE II STRIKE TEAMS FOR THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE

​

Strike Team Leader: Osarla Ridor
ATTN: Teshi Ocano | Sara Roche | Alexander Hayes |

​

There were no impassioned speeches, or great cries of glory in her drop-ship. There were only Soldiers, and scared ones at that. Soldiers were seldom to admit they were scared however, so they covered it up with games of cards, reading, listening to music or simply racking out, trying to get those last ZZZ's before days of battle.

And days of battle it was intended to be. They didn't discuss what was coming next, only what was coming when they got home. She herself stayed out of the chatter, leaned back against the bulkhead, beside her trusty SSG Tal the aqualish alien. Between them, the two squad leads had a few engagements and knew what the other was thinking like shorthand.

What they don't tell you about war and what she considered often forgotten was the fact that these soldiers were individuals. They were not some faceless machine, gunning down the evils or goody two shoes of the galaxy like kettle baked clone troopers. They weren't droids. They were sons, fathers, daughters, mothers and sisters. Some weren't even that, but they deserved dignity nonetheless. Someone somewhere was waiting for their loved ones to come back, and before this day was through, some of them would stain the soil red with their blood. Others would die in their comrade's arms, and others would carry the scars of today forever more.

She grunted, the thoughts weighing heavy on her mind. They didn't talk about glory, no, they just chilled, wondering who among them would make it out. Tal opened a flask and shook it, a devilish grin on what could be considered his facial region.

She grinned and gave him shake of her head as the drop-ship took a hard hit from debris and AA fire outside.

"Screw it, let me have it."

Some soldiers talked, some slept. Today, her and Tal had a drink. Just a small one.

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

[ armor ] [ lightsaber ] [ blaster pistol ]

[ rise ]​

The Maw is giving it everything they got left. That’s where we come in. We establish a beachhead in the hangar of one of their capital ships, push through their forces, take the bridge, and turn it on its brethren. Move in fast, hit them hard, bring down their formation.

Jasper's words echoed inside the boy's helmet.

The young Thyrsian was making some last-minute adjustments to his armor. He'd been working on it off and on, ever since his duel with Jand Talo , but this was the first time since Ilum that he'd donned the full suit of Sasori power armor.

Craning his body from side to side, he tried to stretch and get comfortable. Inside the suit and inside the jump seat that he was lashed into while they waited to breach the hangar bay.

Or get shot down. Whichever may happen first. Will of the Force and all that. Of course, with Jasper Kai'el at the head of their charge, Calix felt certain that luck was on their side. They'd probably breach the hangar and be back in time to get pizza at that place he'd shown Calix on the lower levels of Coruscant.

System diagnostics scrolled across his field of vision, as the onboard systems ran final checks on the components. The board rolled over green, fading from view just as the shuttle bucked hard.

It seemed that they'd arrived.

Julius Sedaire would have been proud. As the boy rose up from out of his jump seat, he drew his pistol rather than the lightsaber.

In the anticipation of combat inside the ship, the blaster just seemed the more practical option.

That was probably the old man's bad influence.

The boy's thumb hesitated over the switch that controlled the particle beam's intensity. As he disengaged the weapon safeties, he thought a moment about the weapon's lethal setting.

...tapping it with his thumb, he switched the weapon to the stun setting.

Even if they might hunt monsters, they were still Jedi.

Leaping into the disorganized chaos of the hangar, the armored youth fired several rounds as he waded into the fray.

Sisserith​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Jand Talo
Abandoned Carnival, Forbidden District Outskirts
​

In a rare moment of lucidity, Val had decided to finally seek out the truth. His master had spoken of Exegol, not Korriban, as the source of her knowledge. He traveled there searching for answers.

At least, that was how the journey started. By the time he reached the planet, it was immersed in a massive battle. War had come to Exegol, and now the mad dancer was caught in the thick of it.

He started out killing any Mawites that got in his way, but soon he was fighting GA forces as well. Jedi could sense the Dark Side in him and would immediately attack. He cut them down too, wishing all the noise would stop. Stay focused. Don't get lost...

Stumbling into the ruins of what had once been a circus, he felt a little bit safer. The carnival lights were still on, though many were sparking and flickering. Even with the chipped paint, the colors were pretty. And the temporary structures, while crumbling, at least made for good hiding places...

The Guard warped out of hyperspace.

A motley band of bombers, fighters, and dropships. It did not make for much of an intimidating sight, in front of the colossal Maw defenses in front of Exegol, in front of the giant Galactic Alliance fleet that was readying to batter it down.

The Guard was serving in an unfamiliar role, but it was a role that allowed them to do what they did best. Sideline fixed defenses and positions, reach back to the backlines and cause as much havoc and destruction as possible, before disappearing into the shadows.

The role they found themselves serving?

Vanguard.

A second later, a Sith Armada jumped into the system. Lines of star destroyers, lines of frigates, cruisers, and corvettes. All unloading their payloads of smaller strike craft, all of them for but a moment silent, their white and black hulls shining greatly against the blue-white star that was the sun of the darkened planet. They were silent for a moment, a deafening silence as if the battle in front of them had made an impromptu ceasefire.

Then the cannons roared, and the guns singed. Great lights of red traversed through space, as if nothing but art, but art would prove so destructive, as they smashed into shields and hulls alike. Some of the Guard would join in that assault, bombers escorted by fighters, but for the majority, they used the opportunity of shock for what it was, dodging past incoming counter-battery fire, weaving past the lasers, and engaging with any strike craft that moved to block them. Most were successful, but as with any campaign, the comms channel would erupt with sounds of craft struck, then the screams of fire emulsion as one of their own fell.

Still, the Guard pressed forward to the planet's surface.

They were not here to engage in a battle among the stars.

Their goal was much more complicated.

Malum flew in the centre of the wedge, the Lochris' engines were blaring to their limits, and he could feel the heat of the resistance of the atmosphere as they pressed onward, great hulks of great ships had been left behind, Maw and Alliance alike as far as he could tell. A bloody battle was taking place in Space, that much was clear. The Lochris would buckle and pull, and with every shot, he would fire, at some foe, either Alliance or Maw that would attempt to disrupt the wedge, disrupt the mission that he had been assigned. Sibby chattered in his astromech form, rain falling down on him as it squeaked in displeasure, Malum giving a rare smile at its antics, Motus was shut off in the back, the protocol and military droid would serve its use when they landed, Malum had found out the hard way that it was scared of combat situations despite its programing, it was cute in its own way.

Every so often, a Guard starfighter would be picked off, but just like another famous guard of ancient history, the wedge would find itself a replacement for its defenses, Malum closed his eyes, allowing the darkness of Exegol to guide him, through the clouds of black, through the flecks of lightning of an everlasting storm.

Malum held his breath, as force pressed against his skull, his forehead, and temple, his hand grasped the amulet around his neck, and he became becalmed, opening his eyes, the darkened clouds and the lightning storm remained, but he could see. His engines roared as the Lochris pressed into the clouds of the ancient planet, the comms remained silent, and the Guard broke out of the wedge and followed after him, a silent trust, perhaps a slave-like obedience.

But it paid its dividends.

A blackened ocean was their reward, breaking out from the clouds, from the storm.

Exegol, was their reward.

It was silence, apart from the hum of the engines, and echoes of the battle above, but in the far distance, a city emerged out from the mists. Lights and fire emerged out of the mist, evidently made from more than the lightning.

The battle had come to Exegol itself.

"Custos and Venerandus," Malum spoke into his coms, as his small fleet of strike craft cruised to the city, thus far not being interrupted by anyone.

"Yes, Scion Marr!" Two voices reported back to him, one guttural and gruff, the other soft and silky.

"Execute the mission, land at the marked positions, secure them, and take everything of use. I shall take the abandoned carnival as planned and make it our base of operation and withdrawal point." They had gone over the plan at length, for at least a week, but now it would determine if their plan would survive contact with the enemy, and indeed, if their plan was feasible at all. As much as could be said about Tsis'Kaar intelligence, he could never be too sure if intel of local geography was completely up to date.

"As you command, Scion Marr," Custos said, and Malum could almost imagine the nod, as he signed off, the left flank of the fleet parting off to follow the white fighter that Malum knew was his.

"Ooooh, a carnival, if only we had more time, we could have gone on the Ferris wheel together~" Venerandus teased, and Malum could certainly imagine the smile plastered on his face, as the right flank of the fleet peeled off to follow the red fighter.

Venerandus was certainly growing bolder.

That was Malum's excuse as he wiped the red flecks off his face.

The Carnival dawned upon them, dark and abandoned, but in a central and defensible position. It was in a prime position to attract any Maw dissidents that saw the writing on the wall and would be in a prime position to gather what assets would be useful for the Sith Order. He only hoped the Maw forces could hold off the Alliance for long enough.

He certainly did not want to be here when Alliance dropships arrived in earnest.

---

Malum walked beside Sibby and Motus, his lightsaber drawn, but not brandished, as he looked around the abandoned carnival. As he had thought, no one was here, and the nearby residential centres had been evacuated, meaning that it seemed they were alone. Squads of the Guard regularly commed in explaining that they had not encountered anyone either.

It seemed strangely enough, that things had gone to plan. Custos and Venerandus had also commed in, stating they had reached their positions and were extracting whatever seemed useful.

All was going to plan.

Why did he feel like that would change very quickly?

Val Drutin Tegan Starfall Jand Talo Corazona von Ascania